


Day 2 - Assassins, 1960s

by fandom_filth



Series: AUgust Winterwolf/Loganbucky [2]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes's Mental Conditioning, Canon-Typical Violence, Is it really an AU with these two, Is the portrayal canon-accurate? I don't care, Less graphic than canon, Logan Has Issues, Logan has FEELINGS, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-graphic Murder, Not that he wants them, Past Relationship(s), Sort of - they don't remember what they're missing, Still written out, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_filth/pseuds/fandom_filth
Summary: Weapon 10 knows his name is Logan.  He knows 9 is his brother, Victor.  He knows he's working for Weapon X, and he knows his objectives are to ensure their target is dead, and then kill off the backup shooters, to make sure there will be no confession.  There's just one hitch in that plan - he remembers Winter Soldier.  If he only knew from where . . .Winter Soldier no longer needs a name.  He remembers that he once had one, but remembering is dangerous.  Thinking outside his objectives was difficult, painful.  His objective is to make sure Oswald killed the target, and then dispose of the backup shooters in conjunction with Weapon 10. Then, dspose of 10.  The hard part is that looking at 10 makes him remember things - it makes him hurt, makes him hesitate.  Who was 10?  He has no right to ask.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Logan (X-Men)
Series: AUgust Winterwolf/Loganbucky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861825
Kudos: 4





	Day 2 - Assassins, 1960s

**Author's Note:**

> The portrayal of Bucky's brainwashing may not be canon-accurate. There are too many tropes with it in the superhero genre and I didn't stop to make sure Bucky's was one of these. Honestly, I'm not sure there are many portrayals of how The Winter Soldier's mind works, from this era anyway, and his handlers change over time, so I'm not too fussy with it.

"Not bad." Logan observed aloud, leaning against a wall in a calculated move to appear casual. It wouldn't fool the man in front of him, the man he was watching with such intense focus behind the thin veil of subtlety.  
Winter Solder jerked up from his task and glared at him. His look of empty venom faltered when he recognized Logan, but still - no familiarity followed it. No warmth.  
Logan didn't know why that bothered him so much. He must have known this man . . . before. Before he - they both - lost their memories. No strangers had ever stirred his emotions like this before. This man had been important to him, if he could just remember . . .  
The Winter Soldier never spoke. His so-called mask was a poorly disguised muzzle, so Logan didn't take it personally, though he considered offering to cut it off.  
Then again, who knew why he was muzzled? Maybe he had some catastrophic superpower that used his voice. No, Victor was happy here. No reason to risk it.  
Logan jerked his chin at the trash compactor. "I assume our colleague is in there?"  
Winter Soldier looked at him steadily for a moment and then nodded sharply. He activated the machine.  
Logan winced at the ensuing noise. "You didn't kill him first? Somebody probably heard that."  
No voice was necessary to understand the other's swearing as he stormed off to take the cube with him off the premises. If they left it, doubtless it would be found.  
The Soldier's expression allowed conveyed a clear " _You're still here?_ " When he came back through.  
Logan shrugged. "I'm supposed to kill you after. I'll bet you've got the same orders. There's my hotel. Dispose of that and come see me." He slipped a card for the place into the other assassin's jacket and strolled out.

It was a bad plan. It was obviously a trap. Weapon 10 hadn't even made effort to disguise it, simply inviting the Soldier over to try and kill him.   
The problem was, he was right. They had both been given orders to dispose of each other after their task was finished and the man in the convertible limousine was dead. Oswald was gone too - everyone involved except himself, Ten, and the hypnotist from Ten's organization. Weapon X, it was called--  
He wasn't supposed to know that, and he winced at the blooming headache the knowledge caused.  
Ten's organization was unimportant. His hypnotist colleague was unimportant. Ten was his objective.  
He picked up the new weapons from his safe house, aware of but unable to locate the handlers around him, and set off to find him, trap be damned.

Ten wasn't even armored up when he arrived. He sat on the couch with a beer and merely raised his eyebrows when Winter Soldier broke through his window and trained a rifle on him.  
"Damn. I'm gonna have to pay for that window."  
That was his priority right now? _Pain_. Ten's priorities were unimportant.  
The moment's hesitation was enough and when Winter Soldier tried to fire his gun he found it sliced in three places, most of it falling to the ground though he gripped it tightly.  
Ten held up a hand, three massive, gleaming silver blades pushing out of his bare skinned knuckles. "You wanna try that again, punk, or do you wanna sit down and come up with a way you get to walk out of this with what remains of your limbs?"  
He sounded so familiar, like - _Pain_. Unimportant. The jab at his arm was unnecessary - _PAIN_. Unimportant. Not his objective. He raised another weapon only to have it immediately shredded like the first. Ten even shrugged off the unnatural strength of his metal arm, though he had to use both his own to break its grip on his throat.  
A blade sliced through the armor protecting his neck and chest as if it were butter. "Now just hold on, soldier."  
A flash - a bearded, silver-eyed man in a uniform, offering him a hand up - saying those words - _PAIN, PAIN_. Not the objective.  
A strong hand gripped his chin through his muzzle and forced the Soldier's gaze to meet his own - familiar silver eyes - _pain, no, stop_ \- and Ten rumbled sympathetically. "Remembering things hurts you." He said, matter-of-fact, as if it were obvious from the Soldier's hesitation alone.  
Maybe the question in his eyes was obvious, or maybe Ten just ran with the topic, but he continued. "I know how it feels. Don't . . . I remember you. A little. Not enough to know you, but - enough I don't really wanna kill you." He loosened his hold on the Soldier's chin. "Do you want to kill me?" He asked, tone firm but leading.  
No. _Pain_. No. _PAIN_. Why? _Pain_. How did he know this man? _Pain_. It was not his place to decide.  
"Hey. Look at me. Your eyes are on me but you're not here. Get your head back here." Ten urged him, and somehow, his gruff voice soothed in a way that the answers did not. "I don't think you want to hurt me. I think your orders are to kill me, and you're afraid of disobedience."  
The very thought of it sent another white-hot flash of pain through the Soldier's mind. When he opened his eyes from it, Ten was nodding.  
"I've got you."  
Another flash - familiar silver eyes - a warm smile - relief - a too-close hug - lips on his forehead - strong arms around him - _PAIN PAIN PAIN_ -  
He jerked out of Ten's grasp and stumbled. He knew him. He did. Whoever they were _before_ \- it wasn't important - _no, it was_ \- he knew Ten - _no, not Ten, something else_ \-   
"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey," Ten's powerful hands framed his neck, and his instinct was to knock them away but he froze when they began a massaging motion. It sent a tingle through his muscles, for so long untouched by a friendly hand.  
"Easy, boy."  
There, that was something he used to say, too. The memories were vague but they were warm, strong, loving. Like the dreams he sometimes remembered from cryosleep.  
The pain from them was overwhelming and he swayed on his feet, hyperaware of the danger of being so unsteady in front of a hostile. Some little, conscious part of his memory rejoiced - perhaps Ten would dispose of him and it would be over soon. He didn't want to die, but to protect . . . who? There was someone, wasn't there?  
He didn't remember passing out. When he awoke, Ten was gone and there was a pad of paper on the coffee table beside him. He'd been moved to the couch.  
He read the pad first.

> _I left some blood and 'used' shells in the bathroom. If your bosses come looking, I'm dead. Mine will take me at my word. Couldn't kill you after you passed out and made it easy._   
>  _If you ever remember me, or think you do and want to find out, shoot me a telegram. I'll see you around, kid. Don't get shot._   
>  _\- Logan (10)_

Logan? Did he remember that name? The headache bloomed again and Winter Soldier closed his eyes against it.  
When he opened them, it was to the sound of his handler in his headset, ordering him to check in. He obediently tapped the signal button on his suit and stood up to return to base. His failure earned him a punishment - but.  
Weapon 10 was no longer his objective.

The telegram never came. When he saw Winter Soldier again four years later in 1967, the man acted as if their last mission together had never happened. Whether he remembered it or not, Logan supposed it didn't matter. They didn't get a chance to talk again.  
He refused to grieve, for something he didn't remember. He denied missing a relationship that no longer existed. Privately, he nursed an ache for someone he knew he'd lost.  
"Good luck, kid." He murmured, staring out his window in the barrack he shared only with Nine - his brother. "I hope you make it out one day."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to anyone who figures out what real-life assassination I imply they were cleaning up after.


End file.
